THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


f — ' 


• 


JOHN  GILDART 


New  York:  WILLIAM  H.  YOUNG  AND  COMPANY 
27  BARCLAY  STREET    igoi 

London:  R.  AND  T.  WASHBOURNE,  i8a  PATERNOSTER  Row 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
M.  E.  HENRY-RUFFIN 


All  rights  reserved. 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London= 


TO 
MY  ALMA  MATER 

si.  JOSEPH'S  ACADEMY,  EMMITSBURG,  MARYLAND, 

WITH  AN  INSPIRING  MEMORY 

OF  NATURE  IN  ITS  NOBLEST  PHASES, 

AND  WITH  A  REVERENTIAL  GRATITUDE 

FOR  ALL  THAT  WAS  ELEVATING 

IN  ITS  INFLUENCE,  PRECEPT  AND  EXAMPLE, 

I  DEDICATE 

THIS  WORK. 


JOHN  GILD  ART. 


VIRGINIA  !    Beloved  of  the  mountains  !  we 

bend 
To  thy  lofty-browed  beauty  in  homage  and 

hail. 

Superb  in  the  cloudland,  all  majesty's  awe 
On  the  crown  of  thy  crests  shall  not  fail. 
With  their  blush  when  the  bridegroom  sun 

uplifts 

With  luminous  touch,  the  morning's   veil ; 
On  through  the  noonglow's  throbbing  sea, 
When  isles  of  purple  shadow  sail ; 
Or  flamed  with  the  track  of  the  sunset  fire, 
When  the  drooping  torches  of  twilight  trail ; 
Or  solemnly  still  for  the  silver  step 
Of  the  gliding  moonbeam,  pure  and  pale  ; 
The  sunlight's  shadow  sanctified  ; 
The  dead  day's  spirit  purified. 
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JOHN   GILDART.  6 

I. 

A  mountain  way,  a  russet  thread  that  wound 
Ambitious  from  the  valley's  low  content, 
To  cloud-embarrassed  precipice.     Midway 
Beside  the  path,  a  modest  cottage  stood 
As  though  it  halted  in  its  white  repose, 
Nor  higher  wished  to  dare.    The  sunset  flames 
Had  faded  to  the  ashes  of  gray  eve, 
When  up  the  path,  a  horse  and  riders  came  : 
A    mountain    farmer    with   his    mountain 

bride : 

The  cot  their  quiet  goal.     Their  steed  forgot 
The  steep  ascent  and  double  burden,  when 
He  took  the  air  of  home  into  his  breath. 
John  Gildart  gave  him  rein — happy  to  feel 
The  nearness  of  his  home  ;  happier  still, 
The  clasp  of  two  dear  hands  ;  happiest  of  all, 
That  Ruth  and  home  and  happiness  were  his. 

Just  as  the  quiet  beehive  grows  aloud, 
With  all  its  buzzing  life,  at  the  first  crash 


JOHN   GII.DART.  7 

Of  honey- seekers,  at  the  horseman's  tread, 
The  cottage  broke  from  stillness  into  sound, 
Kinsman  and  friend  and  neighbor  welcoming 
John  Gildart  and  the  bride  he  brought  across 
The  Carolina  border. 

To  the  door, 

Last,  slowly  tottering,  two  age-bowed  forms, 
And  John  said  gently  :  "  Father,  this  is 

Ruth ! " 
And   still  more  gently:     "Mother,  this  is 

Ruth  ! " 

The  girl's  sweet  eyes  so  sought  a  welcome  in 
Their  faces,  that  the  old  man's  heart,  straight 
way, 

Went  after  John's  ;  the  mother,  too,  almost 
Forgave  her  usurpation,  when  she  spoke. 
And  then  was  swept  the  merry  human  tide 
Back  to  the  cottage  and  the  feast  began  : 
The  wedding  merriment  of  mountaineers. 
While  Ruth  sat  pondering  at  the  cordial 
board, 


JOHN   GILDART.  8 

Her  eyes  and  thoughts  going  from  face  to 

face, 

Trying  to  hide  the  wonder  that  they  all 
Were  unfamiliar  ;  then  remembering  who 
Was  at  her  side,  she  sent  her  brave,  true  smile, 
A  gentle  messenger,  unto  his  friends, 
And  won  her  place  among  them. 

Through  the  night, 
Upon  the  silver  silence  of  the  hills, 
The  little  cottage  flashed  out  like  a  gem, 
With  all  its  gleaming  windows  to  the  sky. 
And  when  the  stars  went  out  beyond  the 

night, 

To  call  Aurora  from  behind  the  heights, 
And  bid  her  bring  the  morning,  one  by  one 
Left  friend  and  kinsman,  for  their  homes, 

or  up, 
Or  down,  or  o'er  the  ceaseless  crests.    And 

Kuth, 

Enthroned  by  love,  with  gentle  conquest,  took 
Possession  of  the  kingdom  of  her  home. 


JOHN   GILDART.  9 

Home  coming  !    Strange  rite  that  breaks 

and  that  binds 
One  life,  in  all  that  in  life  is  the  best. 

O  faith  of  a  woman  !  how  fate  ever  finds 
For  her  feet  a  new  threshold,  her  heart,  a 
new  rest. 

Or  cottage  or  palace  or  peasant  or  queen, 
She  knows,  as  she  greets  the  strange  portals, 

her  reign 
Has    begun  ;    her    throne    mounted ;    or 

mighty  or  mean, 
Love-sceptred,  the  home  is  now  her  domain. 

0  !  the  brave  faith  that  falters  not,  step 
ping  firm  o'er 

Into  the  new  life  ;  and  whether  it  send 
Sunlight   or  shadow  across  the  strange 

door, 

The  veiled  future  is  met,  like  the  face  of  a 
friend. 


JOHN   GILDART.  10 

Peaceful  the  tranquil  mountain  days  that 

wound 
Into  weeks,  like  an  untroubled  stream,  nor 

saw 
The  rocks    that  wait  to  wreck  its  happy 

course. 

The  summer  died  ;  and  autumn's  faded  court, 
That   came  in  crimson  splendor,   shivering 

left, 
Then    winter's    white    kiss    rested    on    the 

hills, 

Until  they  felt  the  warmer  lips  of  spring. 
And  as  the  year    began  its   fresh   young 

life, 

Came  the  fruition  of  a  hope,  a  great 
New  joy  to  Ruth  ;  a  great  strange  pride  to 

John  ; 

And  over  all  the  smiling  hills  was  known 
No  prouder  father  and  no  happier  wife, 
No    more    important    patriarch     o'er    the 

hills, 


JOHN   GILDART.  n 

No    wiser    grandame   through  the  valleys 

found, 
Than  John  and  Ruth  and  the  old  sire  and 

dame, 
When  friend  and   kinsman   gathered  once 

again 

To  give  their  welcome  to  the  new-born  son. 
All  through  the  blossoming  Spring,  day  after 

day, 

Ruth  sat  before  the  cottage,  with  her  babe, 
Her  eyes  now  on  her  needle,  now  upon 
A  moving  speck  far  down  the  hillside,  that 
She  knew  was  John.     And  sometimes,  los 
ing  him 

In  the  blue  ether  of  the  fields  below, 
The  girl  would  stand,  shading  her  love-sveet 

eyes, 

To  follow  surer  where  her  thoughts  had  led. 
Then  finding  him,  would  hold  her  baby  up 
High  in  her  arms,   as  some    brave  soldier 

might 


JOHN   GILD  ART.  12 

Uplift  the  standard  of  his  fealty, 

For  friend  to  recognize  ;  and  loyal  John, 

Down  in  the  valley  fields,  would  look  and  see 

Saluting  heartily  the  living  sign. 

Then  Euth  would  drink  the  nectar  in  the 

air, 

That  flooded  all  the  April-haunted  crests  ; 
And  worship  in  her  simple  woman's  soul, 
The  wondrous,  sacred  beauty  of  the  hills  ; 
And  feel  her  spirit  lifted  up  to  meet 
Their  ancient  mystery  ;  yet  all  the  while 
Resting  her  heart  upon  its  own  repose. 

Within  the  cot  the  old  man  sat  and  read, 
And  the  old  mother's  ceaseless  needles  shone, 
As  the  gray  worsted  took  a  shape  and  grew. 
Then  when  the  self-assertive  clock  began 
To  reach  its  longer  hours,  sweet  Ruth  would 

leave 

Her  vigil  at  the  door  and  place  her  boy 
Upon  the  sheepskin  at  the  old  folks'  feet. 


JOHN   GILDART.  13 

There  he  would  look  as  wise  as  wisdom's  self, 
Keceiving  with  all  due  complacence  then 
The  wonder  and  the  pride  they   both   be 
stowed 

So  artlessly  upon  him  ;  willing,  too, 
To  share  approvingly  their  faith,  that  he 
Was  marvellous  beyond  all  babyhood. 
While  Euth's  light  step  went  on    in  busy 

way, 

Speeding  the  simple  noonday  cheer  for  him 
Who  climbed  the  mountain  track,  his  heart 

aglow 
With  thoughts  that  ran  like  heralds  of  the 

feast 

That  waited  him  in  Ruth's  dear  greeting  and 
His  baby's  kiss. 

So  sped  their  happy  days. 
So  speeds  the  wild  bird's  flight,  with  urgent 

wing; 

Nor  sees  the  coming   shot  that    soon  will 
lower 


JOHN   GILDART.  14 

Its  aerial  life  ;  and  wounded,  leave  its  hours 
Of  ether,  panting  moments  in  the  dust. 

II. 

Slowly,  but  with  a  saddened  certitude, 
Into  Ruth's  simple  mind  the  knowledge  grew 
That  John  was  bearing  all  alone  some  weight 
Of  painful  doubt,  some  burden  deemed  too 

great 

For  her  ;  and  Brutus'  Portia  never  strove 
With  gentler  patience  to  unlock  his  lips  ; 
More  lovingly  rebelled  'gainst  the  unfair, 
Unequal  bond  that  gave  her  no  due  part 
Of  wifely  sympathy  in  every  need. 

All    through  the  later  summer  days  and 

through 

The  briefer  autumn  light,  John  labored  on, 
Heaping  the  ripened  corn  that  amber  shone 
About  his  barn  ;  heaping  the  mellow  hay, 
Upon  whose  spicy  waves  the  summer's  heart 


JOHN   GILD  ART.  15 

Throbbed  out  :  sheafing  the  royal,  sun-rich 

wheat 

Into  pale  golden  promises  of  bread  ; 
A  kingly  largesse,  meant  to  conquer  want  : 
Labored  and  strove  as  if  the  hunger  fiend 
Pursued  him,  or  the  tyrant  greed  had  bound 
Him  to  a  ceaseless  servitude.     And  Euth, 
Keeping  sad  wonder  from  her  lips,  would 

seek 

The  meaning  of  the  toil  that  robbed  his  days 
Of  peace,  devouring  all  his  restful  sleep 
With  sodden  weariness.     Her  hands  would 

ask, 

In  loving  touches  and  each  mute  caress 
Was  eloquent  with  tender  inquiry. 
At  last  the  grain  was  harvested,  and  heap 
On  heap  the  sheaves  were  gilded,  mailed 

hosts 

Armed  for  a  victory,  'gainst  winter's  dearth. 
Then  when  the  fields  no  longer  claimed  his 

care, 


JOHN   GILD  ART.  16 

John  made   swift  journeys  to  the  county 

town  ; 

But  left  within  it  none  of  all  the  weight 
That     burdened     him.      And    when    Ruth 

watched  at  eve, 
The    twilight    mountains,    all  their  magic 

failed, 

To  see  him  come,  so  weary,  brow-bent,  home. 
Long  through  the  night,  when  wonder  ban 
ished  sleep, 
She  heard  the  old  man's  voice,  as  he  and 

John 
Balanced  some  weighty  question.     Once  she 

heard 

John's  eager  voice,  in  sad  decision  rise  : 
"  0  father  !  I  must  go  !  for  you,  yourself, 
Would  not  forbid  me,"  and  a  sigh  was  all 
The  old  man's  answer.     Through  the  hours 

that  cry 
Deadened,   in    Ruth's  sad  sense,  all  other 

sound, 


JOHN   GILD  ART.  17 

"  0  father  !  I  must  go  !  "     "  Whither  ? "  she 

asked, 

The  terror  that  could  only  tell  her,  John 
And  she  must  part. 

And  yet  the  answer  came. 
Too  soon  ;  yet  still  it  came.  One  ashen  eve 
That  shut  the  autumn  light  from  view,  John 

rode 
Brow  lower  bent  and  drooped  with  heavy 

thought, 

The  stalwart  form  upon  the  sober  steed, 
That  took  his  master's  mood.     John  slowly 

rode 
Back  from  the  valley  town,  where  law  and 

news 

Were  equally  distributed  ;  rode  up 
The  russet  mountain  track,  now  musical 
With  crisp  brown  leaves.     And  never  seemed 

his  home, 

Such  heart's  repose,  as  in  the  fading  light, 
The  little  cottage  smiled  in  white  relief 

2 


JOHN   GIXDART.  18 

Against  the  purple,  evening-shadowed  crests. 
The  mountaineer's  strong  heart,  with  yearn 
ing  faint, 

Noting  the  sweet,  familiar  form  that  stood 
Upon  the  threshold  waiting  him  ;  and  to 
His  wistful  gaze,  a  guardian  presence  seemed 
That  should  have  shielded  that  white  home 

from  harm. 

Silent,  he  took  their  baby  from  her  arms  ; 
And  led  her  to  the  cottage ;  silent,  stern, 
The   strong   heart   seeking   for   its    stolen 

strength, 

Before  it  trusted  treacherous  speech.     Beside 
The  fire,  the  old  man  and  his  mother  sat, — 
And  borrowed  from  its  glow  the  warmer 

life 
That  left  their  veins  with  youth. 

John  speechless  stood 
Before  them,  holding  still  the  babe,  as  if 
Somehow  it  helped  him  in  this  saddest  strait 
To  look  upon  his  boy,  remembering, 


JOHN   GILD  ART.  19 

He  now  must  pledge  the  answer  that  the 

years 

Would  ask  him  in  the  manhood  of  his  son. 
The  deep  lines  on  his  face,  without  a  word, 
Answered  the  old  man's  sadly  seeking  glance. 
The  mother's  needles  ceased  their  industry  ; 
The  age-unsteadied  hands  folded  at  rest, 
Prefacing  resignation's  need.     Ruth  crept 
Closer  to  John  ;  and  pressed  an  earnest  hand 
Upon  his  arm,  sending  him  in  the  touch, 
Her  full  heart's  meed  of  wifely  sympathy. 
Was  that  her  John  speaking  in  that  new, 

tense, 
Self -trampled  voice  ? 

"Father!  Mother!  Ruth! 
My  baby  boy  !    We  are  so  happy  in 
Our  little  home.     The  great  hills,  towering 

stand 

About  us  like  strong  sentinels,  to  guard 
The  lives  beneath  their  solemn  shade.    So  far, 
So  high  in  heaven's  smile,  our  quiet  home. 


JOHN   GILDART.  20 

That  all  the  clamors  of  the  noisy  world 
Are  only  breathless  whispers,  when  they 

climb 
Our  peaceful   altitudes.     There  sometimes 

comes 

A  summons,  in  the  whisper,  faintly  clear, 
That  no  man's  soul  can  shrink  from  answer 
ing. 

However  far  away,  however  faint, 
The  echo  of  that  call,  it  must  be  heard — 
And  it  has  come  to  me.     Virginia  calls 
Aloud  to  all  her  manhood,  and  shall  I, 
Child  of  her  brave  old  hills,  not  heed  her 

voice  ? 
True,   I  am    far  away  ;    and  none  would 

seek 

A  simple  farmer  in  his  sky-pitched  home 
In  these  defiant  hills.     But  can  I  hear 
My  Mother-State,  in  silence,  when  she  cries 
In  all  her  need,  to  all  her  sons  ?    No  !  No  ! 
What  answer  give  the  future  of  my  boy 


JOHN   GILDART.  21 

When  his  young  manhood  asks  :  '  And  where 

were  you, 

My  father,  when  our  country  called  ;  and  all 
Virginia's  sons  responded  ? '    O  my  wife  ! 
Our  little  year  has  been  so  plentiful 
In  happiness,  so  soon  to  close  ;  but,  Ruth, 
You  would  not  bid  me  linger  to  prolong 
The  happiness  that  might  grow  bitter  to 
The  coward  consciousness." 

Euth  sought  to  speak  ; 
But  the  strong  pain  rose  up  and  slew  her 

voice. 
"  Father  !  Mother  !   My  boyhood's  proudest 

dream 
To  reach  the  day,  when  all  my  fresh,  young 

strength 

Could  take  your  burdens,  only  leaving  you, 
A  peaceful  sense  of  life's  secure  decline, 
Is  broken  with  the  later  dreams  for  Ruth 
And  for  my  boy.     Why  say  I  more  ?    The 

sharp, 


JOHN   GIIvDART.  22 

Clear  sound  of  battle  rings  through  all  our 

land  ; 

And  every  true  man's  arm  is  lifted  now, 
To  guard  our  Southland  ;  and  shall  I  remain, 
In  faint  security,  with  craven  heart, 
Barter  for  base-browed  ease,  the  lifted  front 
Of  manhood,  in  the  peril  of  our  peace  ? 
Two  voices  called,  my  country  and  my  home. 

0  Ruth  !  my  wife  !  but  Him,  Who  made  us, 

knows 

The  struggle  sore  to  tell  which  voice  to  heed. 
For  the  strong  arm  I  meant  to  be  your  shield, 
Could  not  be  nerveless,  in  Virginia's  need  ; 
And  that  it  might  not  blindly,  traitor  prove 
To  either  cause,  my  country  or  my  hearth, 

1  multiplied  its  strength,  for  many  a  day, 
In  your  behalf,  to  fortify  our  home 
Against  the  season,  I  must  dedicate 

Unto  my  country.     So  the  long,  dark  days 
Are  shielded  all  from  want.     Then,  while  I 
give 


JOHN   GILDART.  23 

My  arm  in  battle  for  our  brave  old  land, 
No  thought  of  any  dear  one  needing  it, 
Shall  steal  its  strength.     And  now,  my  home 

secure, 

I  listen  to  the  other  voice  that  called 
Against  my  hearthstone,  and  in  answer, — 

go." 
Ruth's  voice  that  died  in  her    first  terror, 

rose 
To  meet  John's  troubled  gaze,  that  spite  of 

all 

His  courage-covered  words,  sought  her  reply, 
To  give    them    life.     As    though    his  eyes 

asked  :    ' '  Must 

I  go  ? "  her  tones  rode  over  sobs  to  say  : 
"I  cannot  bid  you  stay."     The  father  laid 
A  feeble  hand  that  met  the  mother's  touch 
In  silent  blessing  on  the  bended  head  ; 
And  all  the  long  contested  doubts  were  done. 

Now  came  the  busy,  thoughtful  care  of  all, 


JOHN   GILDART.  24 

The  soldier's  needs  ;  and  Ruth  bowed  low 
Unto  the  shadow  weighing  down  her  heart, 
And  took  her  part  in  brave  activity. 
Oh  that  to-morrow  !  when  he  would  be  gone. 
Oh  those  to-morrows  !  when  he  came  no 

more. 
They  crowded  round,  like  dread  and  ghostly 

forms, 

To  chill  her  purpose  and  her  courage  slay. 
0  trembling  hands  !  that  steady  seek  to 

grow, 

In  loving  last  remembrances.     O  love  !    - . 
So  fearful  to  behold  yourself  in  truth, 
As  one  might  dread  the  mirror,  when  disease 
Had  blotted  recognition  out.     0  night ! 
Whose  long  dark  hours,  so  heavy-hearted, 

crushed 
Out  sleep,  outweighing  rest,  you  bring  at 

length, 
The  morning,    mocking   with  its   heartless 

smile, 


JOHN   GILDART.  25 

The  farewell,  falling  on  the  little  home, 
The  doom  of  all  its  joys. 

A  thousand  dawns 
Seemed  coming  o'er   the  crests,    when  day 

began  ; 

And  through  the  autumn  glory  of  the  hills, 
And  o'er  the  path  that  led  a  golden  way 
To  the  bright  valley,  John  rode  slowly  down 
And  went  to  battle. 

Half  way  down  the  hill, 
He  paused,  a  backward  glance  bringing  again 
The  dear  home  to  his  heart,  he  sadly  knelt  ; 
And  like  an  ancient  High  Priest,  offered  up 
His  sacrifice  ;  not  tithe,  but  best  and  all, 
The  treasury  of  simple  life  and  love. 

0  God  !  Who  made  us,  Thou  canst  rate 
Our  shallow  strength  and  sorrow's 
might ; 

For  Thou,  our  Father,  Thou  art  great ; 
And  we  are  helpless  in  Thy  sight. 


JOHN   GIIvDART.  26 

We  lift  the  fainting  will  to  Thee 
That  falls  beneath  life's  dread  alarms  ; 

Thy  strength  must  shelter  it  and  we 
Best  in  Thy  mercy's  mighty  arms. 

My  little  home  !  it  is  so  small 
A  spot  upon  Thy  great  world's  breast, 

That  eyes  less  tender  would  not  fall 
Upon  it ;  Thine  on  it  shall  rest. 

0  God  !  when  I  am  far  away 

In  battle,  in  Thy  guardian  sight,  -. 

1  leave  my  home  ;  there  let  it  stay, 
Safe  in  Thy  mercy  and  Thy  might. 

All  through  the  empty  hours,  day  by  day, 
Euth  sought   beyond   the  ethered  distance 

some 
Reprieve  from  that  dull  death,  that  seemed 

to  cling 
About  her,  deadening  every  sense  ;  and  all 


JOHN   GILDART.  27 

The  autumn  heights  a  desolation  made. 
How  fare  the  days  whose  weight  o'erpress 

our  strength  ? 
How  speed  they,    when   our  fainting  lives 

refuse 

To  give  them  motion  ?    'Tis  an  impetus, 
Beyond,     above     our     power,    impels    the 

hours, 

Too  sorrow- laden,  to  be  borne  alone  ; 
And  in  divinely  secret  way,  they  slip 
Into    the  great,  devouring  past ;  for  when 
The    soul  is  sick  with  anguish,  blankness 

comes 

Like  merciful  unconsciousness  to  pain. 
And  so  Ruth's  days  took  their  own  time  and 

passed ; 
While  all  her  household  claims  were  vaguely 

heard 
And  answered ;  as  the  sick  man   takes  his 

draught, 
Accepting  it  as  portion  of  his  dream. 


JOHN   GIIvDART.  28 

When  its  hope  is  dead 
And  its  lustre  fled, 

The  heart  has  a  memoried,  ghostly  crown ; 
For  the  sky  will  hold 
The  sunset  gold, 
When  the  golden  sun  has  drifted  down. 

When  music  that  filled 

Life's  sunshine  is  stilled, 
A  shadowy  tone  through  the  night  will 
ring; 

When  the  song  is  dumb, 

And  silences  come 
The  unforgetting  echoes  will  sing. 

Yea  !  it  passes  by  ; 

But  it  cannot  die, 
The  soul  of  joy's  refulgent  rays  : 

No  sky  so  dark 

But  keeps  a  spark 
Of  splendor  from  sun-haloed  days. 


JOHN   GILDART.  29 

Ah !  doubly  blest 

The  joys  that  rest 
In  benediction  on  our  ways  ; 

For  the  gleams  they  give 

Shall  oft  relive 
To  haunt  and  hallow  darker  days. 

Ill, 

With  brief  delay,  within  the  valley  town, 
To  learn  the  seat  of  action,  John  rode  on. 
He  saw  his  native  hills,  like  turrets,  lean 
Against  the  purple  ramparts  of  the  sky. 
The  autumn  air  had  left  its  keenest  blade 
Upon  the  heights  of  home  ;  and  now  the  faint 
Breath  of  the  lowlands  greeted  him.     The 

fields, 

Fearless  of  earlier  mountain  frosts,  were  yet 
TJnharvested.     The  corn  no  longer  climbed 
In  varied,  ripening  circles  round  the  crests  ; 
But  spread  a  level  feast  unto  the  far 


JOHN  GILDART.  30 

Horizon,  undulated  only  when 
The  tasselled   plains  bowed  stiffly  to   the 
wind. 

The  mimic  canvas  city  of  the  camp 
Was  all  alive  with  martial,  morning  stir, 
When  on  his  sober  steed,  John  Gildart  came. 
The  smile  begun  at  his  unmartial  air, 
And  weary  self  and  steed  vanished  at  sight 
Of  the  set  soldier  look  upon  his  face. 
And  later,  when  he  stood  equipped,  in  all 
His  mountain  manhood,  not  a  voice  was 

heard 
To  question  that  a  brave    man    came    to 

war. 
"Your  name?"  the  Captain  said,  as  brief 

as  though 

Words  were  to  him  as  bread  in  famine  time. 
"  John  Gildart,  sir. " 

"  Your  home  ? "  and  when  he  named 
The  hidden  hamlet  far  behind  the  hills, 


JOHN   GILD  ART.  31 

The  Captain    smiled,    forgetting,    too,    the 

need 
Of  saving  language,  asked  : 

"  How  did  you  know, 

In  that  remote  retreat,  there  was  a  war  ? " 
"I  heard  it  on  a  Court-Day  in  the  town, 
And  straightway  thought  a  war  must  be 

the  call 

For  every  true  man's  arm  ;  however  far 
He  may  be  from  its  face  ;  and  if  my  home 
Was  too  remote  for  war  to  find  me,  I 
Could  find  the  war  ;  and,  Captain — I  am 

here." 

The  Captain  paused  his  pen,  about  to  place 
John   Gildart    in    the   ranks.      One    rapid 

glance 
Went  searching  o'er  the  mountaineer's  tall 

form. 

"  You  may  be  color-bearer.     Sergeant,  see 
To  it."    A  brief  review,  but  still  he  kept 
John's  simple  heroism  in  his  mind, 


JOHN   GILDART.  32 

Against  the  trying   days   of  blood.     They 

came. 

In  every  desperate  charge,  unshuddering, 
John  Gildart  and  his  flag  were  at  the  front. 
So  once,  they  told,  when  bullet-pierced,  his 

leg 

Hung  lifeless  down,  he  caught  a  musket  up, 
From  a  dead  comrade,  on  it,  staff-like,  leaned 
And  flung  his  fearless  flag. 

And  when  they  said, 
Those  solemn  surgeons  in  the  hospital, 
The  color-bearer's  marching  days  were  o'er, 
They  reckoned  not  the  day,  when  next  they 

marched, 

John  Gildart  and  his  flag  still  led  the  front ; 
The  color-bearer's  step  a  little  halt, 
But  not  one  halt  in  his  high-beating  heart. 

Thus  nigh  a  year,  busy  with   blood,  had 

passed, 
Yet  not  a  message  came  to  him  from  Ruth, 


JOHN   GILDART.  33 

No  echo  from  the  home  so  far  behind 
The  azure-distanced  hills.     Her  thought  be 
came 

The  clinging  comrade  of  his  waking  hours, 
The   centre   of  his  dreams.      Still   patient, 

hoped  ; 
Remembering   the    well-filled    barn ;    nor 

dreamed 

Of  danger  possible,  after  the  hours 
He  filled  with  loving  toil,  forearming  her, 
He  surely  thought,  against  all  coming  harm. 
No  neighbor  came  from  that  sequestered  spot, 
And  to  the  simple  dweller  of  the  hills 
The  winged  mail  was  all  a  mystery. 
And  yet,  his  heart  cried  out,  in  breathing 

space 

Of  battles,  for  a  word  from  Ruth  ;  but  then, 
He  hushed  it  with  the  hope  of  that  near  day, 
When  battles  done,  and  new  peace  sweeter 

grown, 

In  lurid  light  of  unf orgotten  strife. 
3 


JOHN   GILDART.  34 

0  tender  blindness  !  that  our  vision  veils 
And  sightless,  smites  the  future  searching 

eyes. 

0  hope  !  forecasting  in  a  golden  guise, 
The  days  beyond,  we  cannot  call  our  own. 

The  year  had  almost  wound  its  circle  when, 
One  autumn  eve,  John  sat  before  his  tent, 
In  the  short  silence  of  the  frenzied  field. 
Beyond    him   stretched    the    recent  battle 
ground, 

With  all  its  dead  unburied.    Here  and  there, 
The  cannon  stood,  like  iron  memories 
Of  that  dread  day's  fatality.     And  John, 
Turning  his  carnage-sickened  thoughts,  from 

all 
War's  thronging  horrors,  let  them  rest  on 

Ruth. 
"My  wife  !    Thank  God  !  so  far  away  and 

safe 
In  that  dear  home  that  seems  like  Paradise, 


JOHN  GILDART.  35 

After  a  day  like  this.     I  never  look 
On  battles  but  I  think  of  Ruth  and  say  : 
Thank  God  !  she  is  so  far  away  and  safe  ! " 

Just  then  a  shadow  fell  across  the  light, 
Grown  feeble  in  the  dying  of  the  day. 
With  glad  surprise,  John  saw  the  face 
Of  his  next  neighbor  in  his  mountain  home  ; 
As  though  his  yearning  thought  had  con 
jured  up, 

Like  incantation,  forms  familiar  to 
That  dear  and  distant  spot.     Then  scarce 

could  John 

Give  greeting  to  his  neighbor,  till  he  sought 
Tidings  of  Ruth. 

"And  Ruth,  my  wife,  is  well 
And  happy  and  the  little  home  is  safe  ? " 
The  neighbor's  voice  was  stayed  as  though 

it  felt 

The  wound  it  gave.     "  She's  had  sore  trouble 
since 


JOHN   GILDART.  36 

You    left    us,    John."     The    color-bearer 

blanched. 

Trouble  to  Ruth  !  after  he  strove  so  long 
Forearming  her.     Never,  by  battle  shock, 
Was  John's  strong  heart  so  shaken  as  it  now 
Sank  at  his  neighbor's  words.     His  pleading 

look 
Asked  for  the  more,  his  voice   refused  to 

seek. 
"  The  old  folks,"  said  the  mountaineer,  and 

paused 

Before  the  blow,  "  'tis  better  quickly  told, 
They  died  two  months  ago ;  but  one  short 

week 
Between   their  going.     Then  the  barn  was 

burned. 

Nothing  was  left  of  all  your  harvesting, 
The  winter  was  a  hard  one  even  for 
The  farmer  well  provided.     Ruth  kept  on 
With  silent  courage  that  right  well  might 

shame 


JOHN   GILDART.  37 

Many  a  sturdy  man.     Your  little  one 

Grew  strong  and  bright,  as  though  it  almost 
throve 

On  misery  ;  and  Ruth  kept  bravely  on. 

But  your  girl's  heart  was  stronger  than  the 
frame 

That  held  it."  Here  John's  painful  breath 
ing  came 

In  gasps  of  agony.     Both  hands  besought 

A  speedy  close  to  anguish  of  suspense. 

"  And  she  is  ill,  so  ill  the  women  drove 

Me  down  the  hills  to  find  and  tell  you,  John. 

The  neighbors  came  to  aid  Ruth ;  but  the 
miles 

Between  them  make  their  kindly  care  but 
brief  ; 

And  hunger,  want  and  death  are  at  your 
door." 

Frenzied  with  one  compelling  purpose,  John 
Broke  from  his  neighbor's  side  to  find  the  tent 


JOHN   GIU)ART.  38 

Of  his  commanding  officer.     The  guard, 
Barring  his  entrance  to  the  General, 
Gave  stern  rebuke  for  breaking  on  the  rest 
The  leader  sought  after  that  trying  day. 
"What  matters  his  permission?"  thought 

poor  John. 
"  He  would  not  grudge  me  one  short  visit 

home, 

After  my  year  of  fighting  ;  and  he  would 
Not — no — he  could  not — bid  me  stay,  when 

Ruth, 

My  wife,  so  needs  me  ;  and — I  cannot  wait. 
I  came  unsought,  willing  and  glad  to  come. 
But  now  —  0  God  !  my  wife  ! — my  Ruth  ! 

how  can 
I  stay  ?    And  when  he  knows  how  great  her 

need, 
He  will  not  blame  me — but  I  cannot  wait." 

And  so  the  watching  stars,  that  night,  beheld 
The  eager  color-bearer  and  his  friend, 


JOHN   GILDART.  39 

As  far  they  left  the  camp,  in  distance  lost, 
And  set  their  faces  to  the  nearing  hills. 

Upon  the  roll  next  morn  the  Adjutant 
Found,     "  missing,"     unexplained,     beside 

John's  name  ; 
When  days  passed  on  nor  brought  him  back 

to  camp, 

Nor  search  discovered  when  or  why  he  left, 
The  paper,  where  the  swift,  condemning  pen 
Had  laid  its  fatal  stroke,  went  on  its  way 
Unto  the  General ;  and  as  he  read, 
Thought  of  the  thinning  ranks  and  of  the  need 
Of  sharp  reminders  to  the  failing  hearts  ; 
And  scowled  upon  the  record,  where  beside 
John  Gildart's  name,  the  word  "Deserter" 

stood. 

Better  than  herb  or  healing  ever  known 
In  doctor's  lore,  the  sight  of  John's  brown 
face, 


JOHN   GILDART.  40 

An  all-subduing  remedy  to  Ruth. 

Her  eyes  drew  in  the  happy  truth,  her  hands 

Mute  witnesses  of  the  white  waste  of  pain, 

Sought  over  and  again  their  eager  proof. 

Supported  in  that  dear  security, 

Her  shaken  spirit  sank,  from  all  its  toils, 

To  slumber  velvety.     When  potent  draughts 

Of  sleep  had  roused  the  stunned  vitality, 

John    held    the   strengthening  hours  with 

many  a  tale 

Of  battle  and  the  angry  days  of  blood. 
While  Ruth  would  lay  a  chiding  hand  to  bar 
The  hasty  words  that  forced  their  way,  when 

John 

Looked  on  his  smoldering  barn,  the  holocaust 
Of  all  his  toilsome  hope,  the  ashen  ghost 
Of  all  the  promises  of  plenty,  lie 
Created  from  his  busy,  thoughtful  love. 
Then  Ruth  would  lead  the  bruised  remem 
brance  back 
To  restful  fancies  ;  bringing  him  their  boy, 


JOHN   GIIvDART.  41 

And  bidding  him  behold  how  sturdily 
The  doubting  baby  feet  would  tread  alone 
Their  wavering  steps,  till  John  forgot  all  else, 
Beyond  his  cottage  door  ;  almost  forgot 
How  bitter  was  the  taste  of  trampled  hope. 

And  now  the  fragrant  steps  of  spring  ascend 
From  the  soft  valleys  to  the  sterner  heights. 
Now  beats  the  summer's  quickening  pulse 

through  all 

The  grain  life  of  the  hills  ;  and  once  again 
John  Gildart  spends  his  hours  of  earnest  toil 
And  gathers  wages  of  the  harvest  gold. 
Once  more  the  resurrected  barn  is  filled  ; 
Once  more  the  promises  of  plenty  guard 
His  home  ;  and  Kuth  has  won  back  health 

in  those 
Dear,  helpful  days,  that  brought  him  to  her 

side. 

Up  from  the  valley  came  his  brother's  wife, 
Widowed  by  war  and  shelterless  by  fire, 


JOHN   GILDART.  42 

And  found   a    tender    welcome  at   Ruth's 

hearth. 
The  last  home  need  now  vanquished,  loyal 

John 

Turned  to  that  other  call,  that  sacred  seemed, 
And  kissing  Ruth,  went  to  the  battle's  front. 

0  haunting  face  !  rest  long  and  dwell 
In  eyes  that  look  their  last  on  thee. 

O  trust  !  now  taking  thy  farewell, 
Of  all  thou  never  more  canst  be. 

0  stately  crests  !  bend  graciously 
Your  beauty  to  his  clinging  gaze  ; 

That  look  your  homage  shall  not  be 
Again  through  all  your  lofty  days. 

O  brave  old  hills  !  close  round  his  heart ; 

And  home !  rest  in  it  tenderly  ; 
Long  years  shall  pass,  ere  shall  depart 

Such  love  and  loyalty  from  ye. 


JOHN   GILDART.  43 

IV. 

Three  brief  November  suns  had  palely  set 
And  when  the  fourth  arose,  John  Gildart 

came 

Into  the  camp.     Many  a  field  was  fought 
And  lost  since  last  he  stood  in  those  now  thin 
And  shrunken  ranks.     The  comrades  he  had 

known 

Now  coldly  greeted  him  ;  and  marvelling, 
He  stood  before  the  grim  old  General 
While  all  the  camp  was  busy  questioning 
How  the  deserter  had  been  found  at  last. 
The  General  looked  at  John,  then  at  the  page, 
Whereon    the    stubborn,    proof-compelling 

words, 
"Gildart,  John,  Deserter,"  stood. 

"  And  so 
They  brought  you  back  ! " 

"  I  came  unsought,  unforced." 
The  stern  commander  smiled,  or  gave  the 

ghost 


JOHN   GILDART.  44 

Of  smiling.     "Ah!  you  thought  to  throw 

yourself 

Upon  our  mercy,  knowing  well  that  soon, 
Even  your  mountain  refuges  must  give 
Their  hidden  traitors  up." 

"  My  strong,  old  hills 
Are  not  the  haunts  of  traitors ;  and  their 

heights 
Are  brave    men's    homes,"  and    in  John's 

face 

The  quick,  defending  blood  uprose.     "I  am 
No  traitor.     If  I  left  the  war,  no  call 
On  earth,  save  one  could  make  me  leave — 

my  wife. 

I  swore  to  stand  between  her  and  all  harm, 
As  long  as  life.     A  thousand  men  were  at 
Your  call ;  but  I  alone  to  hear  her  cry 
Across  the  hills  ;  and  could  I  stay,  when  she, 
My  wife,  ill  and  alone,  so  needed  me  ?" 
But  plead  as  honestly,  as  earnestly 
As  only  honest,  earnest  John  could  plead, 


JOHN   GILDART.  45 

The  dread  court-martial  met.     And  when  he 

told 

His  simple  story  in  his  heartfelt  way, 
They  paused, — those  solemn  judges  in  that 

court, 

Where  stern  death  seemed  presiding  officer  ; 
And  their  tribunal,  gravely  they  adjourned, 
For  dreary  days,  to  weigh  his  plea  against 
The  heavy  charge  upon  him,  while  to  John 
The  knowledge  seemed  at  first  impossible, 
The  truth  too  hard  to  bear,  that  the  strong 

trust 

That  led  him,  like  a  child,  away,  could  mean 
Desertion  and  a  most  dishonored  doom. 
Ah !  would  they   never    understand,  those 

stern, 

Eebuking  officers,  how  all  his  months 
Of  absence  held  the  thought  of  his  return  ? 
Desertion  !  when  he  came  to  war  unsought. 
Desertion  !  when  he  only  crossed  the  hills 
To  battle  against  death  for  Euth.     And  so 


JOHN   GILDART.  46 

John  plead  and  told  his  heartfelt  history, 

Till  hopeless  days  began  to  drag  all  hope 

Out  of  the  earnest  spirit  ;  and  until 

The  simple  story  grew  too  pitiful, 

He  almost  scorned  himself  while  telling  it. 

Why  should  he  speak  of  that  dear  home  and 

Ruth 

To  men  who  made  a  treason  of  his  love, 
Desertion  of  his  loyalty  ?    So  thus 
The  color-bearer  sullen  grew  and  mute. 
The  tender  story  was  more  coldly  told. 
The  earnest  tone  that  spoke  the  faithful  will 
And  almost  turned  the  rigid  law  of  war, 
Grew  passive  and  indifferent.     Could  he 
Bring  forth   his  honest  heart  that  judges 

might, 

With  iron  words,  to  silence  beat  it  back  ? 
The  waning  hope  that  still  upheld  his  hours 
From  utter  darkness,  fainter  grew  at  each 
Adjournment  of  the  court  martial ;  and  still 
They  lifted  not  the  heavy  charge,  nor  loosed 


JOHN   GIIyDART.  47 

The  fetters  that  degraded  him.     Thus,  when 
With  cruel  stroke  it  came,  John's  shrunken 

state 
Felt  not  the  blow  that  would  have  crushed 

him  down 

In  his  uplifted  past.     It  fell  at  length — 
The  heavy  sentence  of  his  doom  to  death. 
The  merciful  delays  that  strove  to  break 
The  iron  letter  of  the  law  were  o'er  ; 
And    now  no   power  of    tenderness  could 

bend 

The  rigid  penalty  that  martial  law 
Had  meted  out  to  John — a  coward's  fate — 
Death  for  desertion — and  a  volley  fired, 
At  sunset,  ten  days  hence,  straight  at 
The  heart  that  never  held  disloyalty. 

The   eve  of  that    stern  day,  John  Gildart 

moved 

Up  to  his  prison  bars  and  whispered  out 
To  the  grim  sentinel :  "  May  I  not  send 


JOHN   GIUDART.  48 

Home  for  my  wife  ? "    And  when  permission 

came, 

Fearing  to  startle  Ruth  with  cruel  news, 
He  bade  them  tell  her  that  the  fighting  done, 
And  he  at  rest,  wished  her  to  come  at  once 
Without  delay  to  camp. 

Ruth  Gildart  heard 
The  summons  on  her  heights  one  August 

morn  ; 

And  rising  up  she  took  her  baby's  hand  ; 
And  happy,  side,  by  side,  they  walked  be 
neath 

The  summer  hills  to  find  the  camp  and  John. 
Waited  the  color-bearer  in  his  cell, 
For  that  last  look,  as  all  that  held  him  now, 
To  sight  and  sound  of  all  that  we  call — life. 

The  pilgrim  sun  shall  sail  away 
Over  each  coming,  crystal  day — 
Drift  down,  sweet  sun  ! 
And  fade  sweet  sky  ! 


JOHN   GILDART.  49 

The  race  is  run 

The  goal  is  nigh. 
In  all  the  ages  thou  shalt  see, 
Forever  must  I  be  blind  to  thee. 

The  spring  shall  speak  with  timid  voice, 
Till  summer's  richer  notes  rejoice, — 
Cease,  tender  song  ! 
I  touch  the  deep 
Decline  of  long 

And  toneless  sleep. 
Ah  !  sweet  and  soft  as  thou  canst  be, 
Forever  must  I  be  deaf  to  thee. 

When  call  the  summer's  song  and  sun, 
'Mid  answering  hearts,  the  silent  one. 
0  loving  trust ! 
No  more  reply 
The  voiceless  dust 

Gives  thy  keen  cry. 

How  swift  and  strong  that  cry  may  be, 
Forever  must  I  be  dumb  to  thee. 

4 


JOHN   GILDART.  5° 

V. 

Oh  it  was  a  wonderful,  butterfly  world ! 

How  rich  he  would  be  could  he  hold 
In  the  grasp  of  his  tiny  arm,  unfurled, 

All  the  wealth  of  their  wings  of  gold  1 

And  it  was  a  wonderful  blossom  world  I 
Must  he  hurry  and  say  good-bye 

To  the  laughing  faces  of  flowers  uncurled 
At  his  feet  that  over  them  fly  ? 

And  oh  !  what  a  song  that  robin  sings ! 

And  oh  !  how  the  river  can  run  ! 
How  the  sky  outspreads  its  fleecy  wings, 

To  melt  in  the  molten  sun  ! 

So  chattered  on  Ruth's  boy  in  that  new  world 
Beneath  the  hills  as  swift  they  journeyed  on, 
With  childhood's  artless  avarice,  'mid  all 
The  largesse  of  the  summer  bountiful. 
And  happy  in  his  happiness,  Ruth  stayed 


JOHN   GIIvDART.  51 

Her  eager  feet,  to  watch  his  breathless  chase 
Of  butterfly  and  bird  ;  and  held  him  near 
Her  heart,  when  tired  out  of  fruitless  hunt. 
Then  all  the  summer  shone  within  her  soul, 
As   nearer   came   the    welcome   that   they 

sought, 
She  and  her  boy,  from  that  strong  heart  that 

held 
Them  in  its  tender  strength.     She  marked 

his  grace, 
Her   sturdy   boy,    and    proud    uprose    the 

thought,  -- 

How  true  an  heir  he  was  to  all  the  health, 
The  great  hills'  heritage  ;  how  true  a  son 
To  him,  a  mountain  manhood  had  so  dow 
ered. 
And  oh,  the  warm,  bright  August  in  her 

heart, 
When  they  should  meet,  John  and  his  boy, 

and  she 
Stand  in  the  glowing  summer  of  their  love. 


JOHN   GILDART.  52 

They  climbed,  one  eve,  a  gentle  hill  and 

stood 

An  hour  before  the  sunset,  on  its  crest. 
"O   mamma!    see!     the   soldiers   and  the 

tents  ! " 
Cried    little    John,    with    merry    clapping 

hands. 

Ruth  sank  in  silent,  prayerful  gratitude  ; 
For  there,  down  in  the  valley  meadow  just 
Beneath  them  was  the  camp.     An  hour  be 
fore 

The  sunset.     In  the  amber  light  of  eve, 
The  white  tents  rose  and    fell    in'  snowy 

mounds  : 
While    all    the  armed  ranks,   by  distance 

dwarfed, 

Were  but  as  dragon -flies,  invisible, 
Save  for  their  glitter.     Then  a  bugle  tone, 
The  spirit  of  a  sound  that  died  and  rose 
Again,  before  it  perished,  came  to  them 
An  hour  before  the  sunset. 


JOHN   GILDART.  53 

Ruth  sat  down, 

Eemembering  the  many  miles  she  toiled  ; 
And  found  the  weariness  she  had  not  found 
In  former  haste.     But,  now,  there  was  the 

camp 

And  John  ;  so  she  would  rest  an  hour  and  go 
To  him,  with  no  sign  of  her  toilsome  way 
To  hang  about  her  and  to  mar  her  joy. 
Yes !   she  would  rest  this  hour,  thinking 

how  long 
The  twilight  to  the  highlands  clings ;  its 

soul, 

Lingering  and  lost,  among  the  hills  of  eve. 
So  rested  tranquilly  and  watched  her  boy, 
This  hour  before  the  setting  of  the  sun. 
The  moments  glided  onward,  drop  by  drop. 
The  downward  sun  was  lessening,  step  by 

step, 

The  distance  of  the  day.     No  sound  came  up 
To  break  the  heart  of  silence  on  the  hill, 
Save  when  her  boy  would  shout  aloud  to  find 


JOHN  GIIvDART.  54 

And  follow  some  belated  butterfly. 

Now  he  came  sobbing  to  his  mother's  side, 

And  showed  her  how  his  gaudy  prize  was 

crushed 

And  beautiless  within  his  conquering  grasp. 
Possession's  fatal  blow  to  all  the  grace, 
Illusion  gives  to  credulous  desire. 
Ruth  comforted  her  boy,  and  checked  his 

tears, 

And  kissed  away  their  traces,  bringing  back 
The  baby  dimples,  John  would  love  to  see. 
And  now  rose  up  to  seek  him. 

As  she  stood, 

Choosing  the  gentlest  path,  for  baby  feet, 
A  cannon  poured  its  single,  solemn  note 
Upon  the  empty  air ;  and  then  she  saw 
The  sun  pass  down  beyond  horizon's  bar. 
The  light  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  dark  ; 
And  the  deep  voice  had  bidden  day  farewell. 
The  hour  had  passed.     It  was  the  sunset 

gun. 


JOHN   GILDART.  55 

But  half  the  hill  descended,  Euth  stood  still 
To  watch  a  sudden  movement  in  the  camp  ; 
And  there  beyond  the  tents  she  saw  an  open 

space, 

Where  four-and- twenty  ready  soldiers  shone, 
Forming  a  single  far- outstretching  line 
That  glittered  like  a  silver  chain. 

Beyond 
The  space,  facing  their  guns,  there  stood 

erect 

A  single  figure  that  might  be  a  man  ; — 
Euth  could  not  tell,  in  that  long  stretch  of 

sight. 

She  paused  to  puzzle  over  it ; — and  then — 
The  sudden  lifting  of  a  shining  row 
Of  muskets — then  a  volley's  rattling  fire — 
That  sounded   almost  sweet  to  Euth,  who 

stood 

And  heard  its  softened  echo  wondering. 
Then  silence  wavering,    like  a  sob  grown 

still. 


JOHN   GIIvDART.  56 

As  we  pause  to  leave  the  day  at  eve, 
And  watch  it  lovingly  out  of  sight, 

A  deeper  day  may  steal  away, 
And  life  drift  down  to  a  deeper  night. 

As  we  bid  good-bye  to  each  sunset  sky, 
In  our  sigh  unconscious  tears  may  dwell ; 

All  the  crimson  and  gold  that  life  can 

hold, 
May  be  fading  away  their  own  farewell. 

0  sunset  sky  !  0  days  that  die  ! 
Ere  ever  again  ye  lift  the  night, 

Beyond  the  brink  of  dawn  we  sink, 
Beyond  the  borderlands  of  light. 

VI. 

A  shadow  at  his  door,  the  General 
Looked  up  and  met  an  eager,  searching  gaze. 
A  woman  stood  before  the  tent.     Her  dress 
Told  of  her  mountain  home,  as  did  her  high, 


JOHN   GIIJDART.  57 

Free  grace  of  movement.     From  her  face, 
The  bonnet,  falling  back,  a  picture  showed 
Of  hope  sincerest.      From  the  grave,  blue 

eyes, 

The  shining  soul  of  happiness  went  forth 
With  every  glance.     A  little  rosy  boy, 
A  blossom  of  the  sunhigh  hills,  was  at 
Her  side. 

"  I  came  to  seek  my  husband,  sir." 
It  might  have  been,  "my  king,"  so  proud 

the  tone. 

"  What  is  your  name  ? " 
"  Ruth  Gildart,  sir." 

"And  his? 
No— not— " 

"My  husband  is  John  Gildart,  sir, 
A  color-bearer  in  your  ranks.     I  came 
Across  the  hills  as  quickly  as  I  could. 
They  said  he  wanted  me  ;  that  he  was  free 
From  fighting  now." 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  "  the  General  said  ; 


JOHN   GILDART.  58 

And  whispered  to  his  pitying  soul  :    "  Yes  ! 

Free ! 

Forever  free  !  as  one  who  hears  the  last 
Command  ;  obeys  it ;  while  obedience 
Is  death." 

"  They  said  that  I  could  come  to  him  ; 
And  you,  kind  sir,  will  tell  me  where  to  find 
My  husband  now."  The  General's  stern 

eyes 
Fell  from  her  gaze  and  sought  the  fatal 

page, 
Whereon  his  hand  had  signed  John  Gildart's 

doom. 
He  looked  at  Ruth.     Then  started  up  ;  and 

then  sat  down. 

"  What  did  you  say — John  Gildart 

—why 
There  must  be  some  mistake ;  and  are  you 

sure, 

Quite  sure — that   was — what  is  your  hus 
band's  name  ? " 


JOHN   GILDART.  59 

"John  Gildart,  sir;"   the  voice  was  very 

sweet ; 
And    sweeter   still  the    puzzled   face  that 

turned 

To  answer  him.     Again  he  looked.     A  great, 
Strong  pity  stifled  him.     How  could  he  tell 
This  happy  girl,  that  out  beyond  the  camp, 
A  still,  dark  soldier  lay,  with  lifted  face 
Sightless  to  the  stars  ?     Oh  God  !  how  could 
She  smile  and  ask  in  that  proud  voice, 
For  him  ? 

"  Will  you  not  tell  me,  sir,  where  I 
Can  find  John  Gildart  ? "  But  the  General 
Shrank  from  the  tender  eyes  that  smote  his 

soul. 

Ruth  sat  and  waiting  his  reply,  she  faced 
The  officer.     He  brought  a  sterner  tone 
To  battle  with  the  pity  that  well  nigh 
Had  conquered  him. 

"  Why  should  you  wish  to  see 
So  cowardly  a  man,  as  we  have  proved 


JOHN   GILDART.  60 

Your  husband  was  ?    He  left  the  camp,  with 
out 

A  furlough,  and  on  some  pretext  that  you 
Were  dying  ;  and  it  was  the  very  eve 
Of  our  most  fatal  battle  ;  but  he  saved 
His  coward's  life  to  lose  his  honest  name  ; 
And  coward  and  deserter  now  is  proved." 
Ruth  Gildart  rose.     She  strove  in  vain  to 

speak  ; 
But  the  fierce  pain  smote  voice  and  utterance 

dumb. 

A  million  cruel  echoes  seemed  to  pour 
Into  her  hot  indignant  heart,  the  words 
The  General  had  hurled  at  her.     Her  John 
A  coward  !  a  deserter  !     And  must  she 
Stand  silent,  in  the  face  of  calumny 
Like  this  ?   She  strove  to  speak.    A  little  hand 
Tugged  at  her  dress.     Her  baby's  pleading 

tone  : 

"  0  mamma  !  come  and  see  !  Please,  mamma, 
come  ! 


JOHN   GILDART.  61 

I    want    to   see   the   soldiers.      Here    they 

come  ! " 
Ruth  blindly  followed,  glad  to    leave   the 

tent 
That  seemed  a  sinful  place,  since  she  had 

heard 
The  slanderous  words  ;  and  glad  to  breathe 

again 
The  sinless  air. 

The  night  was  nearer  now 
Than  when  she  reached  the  camp. 
She  stood  in  doubt 
A  moment,  wondering.      And  where  was 

John? 

Only  within  his  arms  could  she  forgive, 
Forget  that  moment's  cruelty.     Now  must 
She  hasten  on  to  seek  him  ere  the  night 
Made  her  search  hopeless,  in  that   tented 

town. 

Tent  after  tent,  she  peered  into,  and  sighed 
To  find  no  face  like  John's.     Her  baby's  step 


JOHN   GILDART.  62 

Grew    heavy  as  her    heart    with  fruitless 

search. 
"Where  is  my  soldier  papa?"  'twixt  two 

sobs 
The  question   came.     "  Hush  !    baby  dear, 

for  soon 
We  shall  see  papa."    Through  her  words  of 

cheer 

The  undertone  of  disappointment  came. 
The  rows  of  tents  stopped  here,  and  still 
No  trace  of  John. 

She  looked  beyond  the  camp, 
Into  the  open  space,  where  she  had  watched 
The  shining  muskets,  just  an  hour  ago. 
The  field  was  quiet    now.     The  sound  of 

arms 

And  tread  of  soldiers  faded  to  the  peace 
Of  camp  at  twilight.     Still  Ruth  wandered 

on. 

A  group,  small,  dark,  almost  indefinite, 
Stood  at  the  meadow's  limit.     To  her  gaze, 


JOHN   GILDART.  63 

Their  attitude  of  quiet  waiting  seemed 

To  draw  her  near  ;  and  as  she  moved,  her 

steps 

Were  driven  onward,  by  some  impetus 
Unseen,  but  more  than  felt. 

Breathless,  she  paused, 

Without  their  circle.     On  its  edge,  surprised, 
The  kindly  soldier  faces  greeted  her. 
A  heavy  silence  hung  upon  the  men, 
And  almost  hushed  the  question  on  her  lips. 
No  answer  came,  as  Euth  looked  eagerly, 
From   soldier  unto   soldier,  paling  there, 
Before  her  question,  as  they  had  not  paled, 
Before  the  battle's  shock. 

The  solemn  beat 

Of  rugged  words,  the  soldier-preacher's  tone 
Was  broken  as  Ruth's  voice  arrested  him  ; 
While  every  man  started  and  looked  aghast, 
To  hear  John  Gildart  sought  for  at  that 

hour. 
And  every  moistened  eye  instinctive  fell 


JOHN   GIIvDART.  64 

Upon  the  ready  grave,  its  waiting  guest, — 
The  form  that  blanket-covered  slept, 
Silent  and  veiled  and  nameless,  while  she 

spoke. 
But  in  that  shuddering  pause,  the  waiting 

blow 
That  strong  men  could  not  strike,  a  baby 

hand 

At  last  sent  sudden  down  ;  for  little  John, 
Peering  about  the  soldiers   and  their  arms, 
Touching    with    tiny    fingers,    swords  and 

guns 

Came  to  the  nameless  burden  that  was  laid 
Before  the  open  grave.     With  playful  touch 
The  fearless  baby  fingers  lifted  up 
The  awful  drapery  of  death.     Euth  sprang 
To  chide  her  boy  ;  and  drawing  near  she  saw 
The  form  and  features  of  the  unveiled  dead. 
An  instant's  anguished  recognition  came. 
Her  search   was  ended  and  John  Gildart 

found. 


JOHN   GIIvDART.  65 

Shriek  after  shriek,   to  shuddering    echoes 

tore 
The  heart  of  peace    that    beat  upon  the 

night ; 
And  all  the  soul  of  starry  silence  fled. 

As  after    autumn's  storms,   to    woodland 
comes 

The  winter's  snowy  hush,  on  Ruth's  wild 
grief, 

The  softness  fell  of  white  unconsciousness. 

From  that  deep  sleep,  she  rose  to  walk  beside 

The  still,  tall  form,  upon  the  wagon  borne  ; 

The  stalwart  color-bearer's  last  sad  march. 

And  so  she  brought  him  home  across  the 
hills. 

Oh  !  anguish  of  that  second  "  coming  home  " 

To  Ruth,  remembering  the  happy  first. 

There  rested  he  amid  the  solemn  heights  ; 

And  there  Ruth  dwelt  through  all  her  wid 
owed  days. 
5 


JOHN   GILDART.  66 

A  shadow  over  all  the  noble  hills  ; 
A  shadow  over  all  the  little  home  ; 
A  shadow  over  all  her  empty  life. 

I. 

O  hills  !  that  held  his  heart,  now  keep 
His  spirit  'mid  your  dauntless  crests  ; 

And  prouder  rise,  while  he  shall  sleep  ; 
And  statelier  that  here  he  rests. 

II. 

Let  not  the  lying  shot  that  hushed 
His  heart,  a  living  witness  be. 

0  loyal  hills  !  the  life  it  crushed, 

Was  yours,  the  steadfast  and  the  free. 

III. 

And  silent  be  the  fatal  word, 
By  which  he  fell ;  but  tenderly, 

From  crest  to  crest,  be  clearly  heard 
His  brave  and  gentle  fealty. 


JOHN   GIL,DART.  67 

IV. 

Then  rest !  strong  heart !  in  thy  home 
hills : 

Thy  mountain  mother's  memory 
Claims  all  thy  lofty  life  and  fills 

Her  unf  orgetting  heights  with  thee. 

FINIS. 


(Written  after  the  Yellow  Fever  Epidemic  of  1878.) 

PURER  than  thy  own  pure  snow, 

Nobler  than  thy  mountain's  height, 
Deeper  than  thy  ocean's  flow, 

Stronger  than  thy  own  proud  might, 
0  Northland  !  to  thy  sister  land, 
Was  late  thy  mercy's  generous  deed  and 
grand. 

Nigh    twice    ten    years    the    sword    was 

sheathed  ; 

Its  mist  of  green  o'er  battle-plain 
For  nigh  two  decades  spring  had  breathed  ; 

And  yet  the  crimson  life-blood  stain 
From  passive  swords  had  never  paled, 
68 


REUNITED.  69 

From  fields  where  all  were  brave  and  some 
had  failed. 

Between  the  Northland,  Bride  of  Snow, 
And    Southland,   brightest    Sun's    fair 

Bride, 
Swept,  deepening  ever  in  its  flow, 

The  stormy  wake  in  war's  dark  tide. 
No  hand  might  clasp  across  the  tears 
And  blood   and  anguish  of  four  deathless 
years. 

When  summer,  like  a  rose  in  bloom, 

Had  blossomed  from  the  bud  of  spring, 
Oh  !  who  could  deem  the  dews  of  doom 

Upon  the  blushing  lips  could  cling  ? 
Who  could  believe  its  fragrant  light 
Would  e'er  be  freighted  with  the  breath  of 
blight  ? 

Yet  o'er  the  Southland  crept  the  spell 
That  e'en  from  out  its  brightness  spread, 


REUNITED.  70 

And  prostrate,  powerless,  she  fell, 

Eachel-like,  amid  her  dead. 
Her  bravest,  fairest,  purest,  best, 
The  waiting  grave  would  welcome  as  its 
guest. 


The  Northland,  strong  in  love  and  great, 

Forgot  the  stormy  days  of  strife  ; 
Forgot  that  souls  with  dreams  of  hate 

Or  unforgiveness  e'er  were  rife. 
Forgotten  was  each  thought  and  hushed, 
Save  she  was  generous  and  her  foe  was 
crushed. 

No  hand  might  clasp  from  land  to  land  ! 
Yea  !  there  was  one  to  bridge  the  tide  ; 
For  at  the  touch  of  Mercy's  hand, 

The  North  and  South  stood  side  by  side. 
The  Bride  of  Snow,  the  Bride  of  Sun, 
In  Charity's  espousals  are  made  one. 


REUNITED.  71 

"  Thou  givest  back  my  sons  again," 

The  Southland  to  the  Northland  cries. 
"For  all  my  dead,  on  battle-plain, 

Thou  biddest  my  dying  now  uprise. 
I  still  my  sobs,  I  cease  my  tears, 
For  thou  hast  recompensed  the  anguished 
years." 

Blessings  on  thy  every  wave  ! 

Blessings  on  thy  every  shore  ! 
Blessings  that  from  sorrows  save  ! 

Blessings  giving  more  and  more  ! 
For  all  thou  gavest  thy  sister  land, 
0  Northland !   in  thy  generous  deed  and 
grand  ! 


ST.  PATRICK'S  BEACON  FIRE. 


THE  ship  by  Innis  Phadruig  stands,  the  Isle 
That  Patrick's  name  has  hallowed  since  the 

Saint 

Trod  as  a  benediction  on  its  sands. 
Then  many  an  isle  and  little  port  and  bay, 
The  Saint's  ship  touched,  till  where  the  bend 
ing  Boyne 

Bows  till  abased,  self-lost,  within  the  sea. 
They  tarry.     Forty  days  the  watching  crew, 
With  fast  and  prayer,  held  the  golden  hours. 
0  vernal  promise  !  mingling  with  the  tide 
Of  Patrick's  gospel,  filling  all  the  land, 
As  sun  and  song  and  blossom  fill  the  spring. 

On  Tara's  Height,  a  glory  yet  ungleamed, 
This  Resurrection  Morn.     The  mystic  fire 

That  fed  the  Druids'  faith,  by  Loagare's  tent 
72 


ST.  PATRICK'S  BEACON  FIRE.         73 

Shall  have  another  mystery.     Eternal  steps 
Are  on  thy  hills,  O  Erne  !  to-day. 
Thy  Saint,  thy  Message  conies ;  and  never 
more 

Shall  fade  the  flower  springing  on  his  track, 
The  Flower  of  Faith,  his  Erin  wears  as  full, 
As  fragrant  still,  as  when  it  leaped  up  free, 
On  green  Magh-Breagh,  that  Easter  memor 
able, 
In  that  bright  year,  Loagare  was  King  and 

held 

O'Nial's  throne,  his  grandsire  famed  in  song 
Of  bards,  "  O'Nial  of  the  Nine  Hostages." 
The  Court  at  Tara  met.     The  sacred  fire, 
The  sovereign's  sole  right  was  blazing  forth, 
The  royal  flame,  proclaiming  far  and  near, 
The  Council  of  the  Nobles  and  the  King. 
And  instant  death  was  his  who  durst  to  light 
A  beacon  fire,  in  sight  of  Tara's  Hill, 
While  burned  the  royal  blaze  and  Council 
met. 


ST.  PATRICK'S  BEACON  FIRE.      74 

"  But  see  !  "  the  Druids  cry  unto  the  King, 
"Yon  fire  of  sacrilege."    Upon  the  banks 
Of  Boyne,  a  tent.     Before  its  open  door 
The  daring  light  of  beacon  fire  forbid 
The  limits  of  the  Land  of  Breagh. 

"A  sign! 

0  King  !  "  the  Druids  wail,  "  a  fateful  sign  ! 
Bid  yonder  blaze  be  instant  quenched.    What 

say 

The  prophecies  ?    A  deadly  and  dark  word 
For  thee,  Loagare.     'When  burns  a  blaze 

before 

The  beacon  of  the  King,  the  hand  that  held 
The  daring  torch  shall  hold  thy  land  as  well. 
And  never,  age  on  age,  shall  pass  away, 
The  power  of  him  whose  beacon  burns  be 
fore 

The  beacon  of  the  King.'    Forevermore  ! " 
The  Druids  wail,  "unless  he  instant  die, 
Shall  he  be  sovereign  of  our  land  of  Erne  ; 
And  never  other  King,  the  Erseland  own." 


ST.  PATRICK'S  BEACON  FIRE         75 

So  King  Loagare  bade  hasty  messengers 
Summon  the  builder  of  the  impious  fire 
Before  the  Court  and  Council  of  the  Druids. 

"  Let  none  arise  !  "  the  monarch  gave  com 
mand, 

As  all  the  Court  impelled  to  reverence, 
Moved  at  the  coming  of  the  gentle  Saint. 
Close  after  him,  in  loving  humbleness, 
A  noble  convert  followed,  Sessnen's  son, 
Benignus,  young  and  eager  in  new  faith, 
Leaving  the  heirdom  of  all  Meath,  to  join 
His  steps  with  Milcho's  stranger  slave. 

But  Ere, 

The  tall,  strong  son  of  Dego,  rose  up  straight 
And  bowed  in  Patrick's  sight ;  the  impetus 
Within,  impelling  stronger  than  the  word 
Of  King  Loagare,  forbidding  reverence. 

Then  all  forgotten  was  the  daring  fire 

Of  sacrilege,  as  Court  and  King  and  Queen, 


ST.  PATRICK'S  BEACON  FIRE.       76 

Druid  and  Bard  and  Warrior  owned  the  spell 
Of  that   strange  Message,  captives    to  the 

.     faith. 

Dubtach,  the  master  soul  of  song,  the  bard 
By  King  Loagare,   the  best  beloved,  swift 

taught 

His  Druid  harp,  the  melody  of  Christ. 
And  never  fell,  in  battle,  fierce  and  fast, 
The  vanquished  from  the  Irish  swords,  as 

fell 

The  ancient  creed  of  Erne,  at  Patrick's  word. 
Just  as  the  land,  the  dear  and  green  sweet 

land 

He  loved,  laid  off  the  winter's  snow,  at  touch 
Of  spring's  first  smiling,  finding  emerald 

garb 
And   richest    gems   beneath,   so   fell    from 

Erne, 

As  swift  away,  the  Druids  and  their  day. 
So  melted  fast  into  the  warm,  true  light 
Of  Christ's  own  love,  the  little  Isle  of  Saints. 


ST.  PATRICK'S  BEACON  FIRE.        77 

0  that  first  Easter  Morn  on  Tara's  Hill  ! 
0  springtime  !    in   that  ancient    shamrock 

land. 

We  tread  the  centuries  to  meet  again. 
We  bring  the  picture  back  to  loyal  faith — 
The    Court   of   King   Loagare,  on    Magb- 

Breagh's  plain — 

The  witchery  of  spring — the  song  of  thrush — 
In  hawthorne  hedge  or  hid  in  ivy  wall — 
We  fill  the  picture  of  that  Easter  Morn — 
And  Patrick  coming  with  the  fair,  young  day. 

But  lo  !  a  stronger  voice  comes   thrusting 

through 

The  widening  waste  of  ages — stronger  still, 
The  voice  of  prophecy.     O  wailing  priests 
Of  Baal  !  the  fire  of  Druid  faith  has  paled 
Before  the  greater  light  in  Patrick's  hand. 
Still  may  your  wail  grow  into  prophecy 
Fulfilled  ;  and  Patrick's  daring  fire  before 
The  beacon  of  the  Council  of  Loagare, 


ST.  PATRICK'S  BEACON  FIRE        78 

Proclaim  another  Everlasting  King, 
Our  Erin's  only  monarch  ;  and  His  reign 
Shall  never  perish  ;  for  our  land  of  Erne 
Is  Christ's  own  kingdom,  won  that  Easter 

Morn, 
For  faith  eternal,  by  her  deathless  Saint. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9 — 15m-10,'48  (B1039 )  444 


THE  UBRARY^ 

s»  0*LfFeRNIA 


PS 


Ruff in  - 


John  Gildart, 
R 33 8j   an  heroic  poem, 


PS 

3535 
R838j 


A  001  248  674  2 


